We'll Meet Again Read Free Page A

everybody in Greenwich.”
    There’d actually been many reasons for both her and her mother relocating to California, leaving Connecticut as far behind as memory would allow. On the day of Fran’s graduation from the academy, her father had taken her and her mother out for a festive dinner of celebration. At the end of the meal he had toasted Fran’s future at his alma mater, kissed both of them, and then, saying that he’d left his wallet in the car, he had gone out to the parking lot and shot himself. In the next few days the reason for his suicide became apparent. An investigation quickly determined that he’d embezzled $400,000 from the Greenwich Library Building Fund drive he’d volunteered to chair.
    Gus Brandt knew that story already, of course. He’d brought it up when he came to Los Angeles to offer her the job at NAF-TV. “Look, that’s in the past. You don’t need to hide away out here in California, and besides, coming with us is the right career move for you,” he’d said. “Everyone who makes it in this business has to move around. Our six o’clock news hour is beating the local network stations, and the
True Crime
program is in the top ten in the ratings. Besides, admit it: you’ve missed New York.”
    Fran almost had expected him to quote the old chestnut that outside New York it’s all Bridgeport, but he hadn’t gone that far. With thinning gray hair and sloping shoulders, Gus looked every second of his fifty-five years, and his countenance carried permanently the expression of someone who had just missed the last bus on a snowy night.
    The look was deceptive, however, and Fran knew it. In fact, he had a razor-sharp mind, a proven track record for creating new shows, and a competitive streak second to none in the industry. With hardly a second thought, she’d taken the job. Working for Gus meant being on the fast track.
    “You never saw or heard from Molly after you graduated?” he asked.
    “Nope. I wrote her at the time of the trial, offering my sympathy and support, and got a form letter from her lawyer saying that while she appreciated my concern, she would not be corresponding with anyone. That was over five and a half years ago.”
    “What was she like? When she was young, I mean.”
    Fran tucked a strand of light brown hair behind her ear, an unconscious gesture that was an indication she was concentrating. An image flashed through her mind, and for an instant she could see Molly as she’d been at age sixteen, at Cranden Academy. “Molly was always special,” she said after a moment. “You’ve seen her pictures. She was always a beauty. Even when the rest of us were still gawky adolescents, she was already turning heads. She had the most incredible blue eyes, almost iridescent, plus a complexion models would kill for and shimmering blond hair. But what really impressed me was that she was always so composed. I remember thinking if she met the pope and the queen of England at the same party, she’d know how to address them and in what order. And yet, the funny part was that I always suspected that, inside, she was shy. Despite her remarkable composure, there was something tentative about her. Kind of like a beautiful bird perched at the end of a branch, poised but ready at any second to take flight.”
    She’d glide across the room, Fran thought, remembering seeing her once in an elegant gown. She looked even taller than five eight because she had such gorgeous carriage.
    “How friendly were you two?” Gus queried.
    “Oh, I wasn’t really in her orbit. Molly was part of the moneyed country club set. I was a good athlete and concentrated on sports more than on social activities. I can assure you my phone was never ringing off the hook on Friday night.”
    “As my mother would have put it, you grew up nice,” Gus said dryly.
    I was never at ease at the academy, Fran thought. There are plenty of middle-class families in Greenwich, but middle class wasn’t good enough for